


Meaningless

by Gua-camole (GunpowderFlaw)



Category: Eminem (Musician), Machine Gun Kelly (Musician), Music RPF
Genre: Just a lil heads up, M/M, Major Character Death here, Translated from Mandarin Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunpowderFlaw/pseuds/Gua-camole
Summary: What happened after Colson's death.
Relationships: Colson Baker | Machine Gun Kelly/Eminem
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Meaningless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GinnyRiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyRiver/gifts).



> Many thanks to GinnyRiver here on ao3 for allowing me to translate their work! It's a heart-breakingly beautiful piece, and I can only hope that my translation could do it justice. If you can read Mandarin Chinese, please click here [Meaningless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474752) to check out the original! 
> 
> Shout out to [InGenius88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InGenius88/pseuds/InGenius88/) and @Kelly-Green-Marshmallows on tumblr for helping out! You are real homies ;))

“Colson’s dead. Yes, last night. Overdose.”

“Come on, I didn’t do anything. That was pretty much a natural cause for a junkie and an alcoholic.”

“...I’m fine, for real. Who picks up the phone when they’re not?”

“Alright. See you at BET.”

Eminem put down the phone, and lay back onto the couch. This morning he had repeated the same conversation countless times. Last night, Machine Gun Kelly, aka Colson Baker, never woke up from his ‘routine’ nap after burning a fat one. Truthfully, not even Em knew what was the other’s real cause of death. It could be a heart attack - which allegedly was prone to happen to tall people - or an overdose. Or, it was his long-term fucked up sleeping schedule finally creeping up on him. He didn’t send the body to a hospital, since the beauty-loving blond boy would tell him to go to hell once he knew the colorful doodles sprawled over his torso would get cut to pieces. No, no. He didn’t want to go with Colson that quickly, it was not his time to “rest” yet - not until he answered all of the condolence calls, the middle-aged man sighed, and pressed answer.

Paul, it was always him. The only thing his manager hadn’t done was telling him to relapse to cope with the grief.

“I’m fine, really.” Eminem was somewhat curious, he didn’t know why everyone was convinced that he should be drowning in sorrow, as if his unwavering tone during calls was just the precarious mentality of a drunk man. Should he stay in his house for half a year straight? Or pick one of his old vices and revive it? No, he didn’t want to do anything. He just didn’t feel anything, as though the thing that died yesterday was just a moth in his bathroom, and there were always moths in Detroit. Or maybe he was old, old enough to be unable to kindle his passion for others, or he just never loved Colson.

The idea was as casual as subliminal rhyming, and he rebuked his own indifference after realizing the fact. He knew he shouldn’t think of it that way,  _ Eminem admitting to never being in love with the other when their relationship was almost an open secret in the industry?  _ He wanted to laugh, that would be so fucking astounding. But perhaps to love or not had never meant anything, perhaps he just wanted to find himself some company? Afterall, unlike Colson, he was way passed the phase of caring for spoken promises. 

Everything about the kid was like a small wave in his tsunami-like life, as were the funeral, the memorial event, all of them. They swirled in front of his eyes, like waves in the ocean, transitory, ephemeral. Gradually, those friends that appeared concerned and seemed to want to say something every time they saw him, started treating him like usual.

“Em is someone who doesn’t bare his wounds, he’s a strong man.” They commented behind his back. No one knew that the truth was he didn’t have anything in mind about this. He kept all of Colson’s things, including the leftover weed and fancy clothes he had found “abhorrent”. But that was not for memorials, he was just too lazy to get rid of them. Everything was back on its track, including the monthly meet-up and weekly sports. The middle-aged man got back into his old life.

He came home tonight to find the house in darkness, even from a distance, but the lights should be on. His loved one should already know that he disliked the darkness when he came home.

“I told you, you should leave the lights on, at least those in my room.” The first thing he uttered was an accusation as he passed the threshold.

There was no answer.

Fine, maybe the kid fell asleep again, one of the days he was going to die from too much sleep. If it was any other day, Em would just lie next to him and pass out, then get kicked out of bed the next day for not changing. But today was different. An entire day in the studio exhausted him, and the dead silence in his house provoked his anger. He needed explanations from the kid who had been dozing off in there.

“Colson, come out.”

“Colson Baker, get out of there you fuck.” He raised his voice, but still no response.

“You will regret this, kid.” Pissed off, he strode to the bedroom, without a care for whether the young man had fallen asleep or not. It wouldn’t be the first time anyway.

There was no one in the room. The boy was probably having fun with his “dumbass kids club” right now. And the only thing greeting him would be the busy signal on the other end even if he called, the blond boy never answered calls from anyone when he was in the middle of having fun. He made a mental note for this.  _ Tomorrow, Colson. You better not come back. _

The man casually took out several bunched up pages from a notebook out of his pockets and put them on top of a book on the bedside table, and the moment his fingertips came in contact with the piling dust over its top, he realized, that there was no tomorrow.

The book was brought back the day the boy passed, and the title was  _ How to Change a Control Freak. _ He remembered Colson’s unwarranted cockiness when the book was thrown at him, Colson announcing loudly that he would read one page aloud every day since then with the same volume. But in the end the kid that cared the most about promises fell short of keeping his goddamned own. It hit Em that the room still had the exact same layout as before, Colson’s closet, along with the booze he secretly kept inside were all still there. Until then he realized, subconsciously he had been hoping that these things could be the signs of his beloved’s presence. He had never been able to get over the young man’s unsaid goodbyes, yet this grievance had only really planted its roots and sprouted after so long. 

_ Why didn’t you turn on the lights and wait for me to come home, Colson? _ He internally repeated the question that would not get a response.

Marshall Mathers hunched over in pain, hands on his head, falling into a perpetual silence with the soundless darkness.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments on the original work!


End file.
